


Every Blessed Day

by the_rogue_bitch



Series: The Selkirk Grace [5]
Category: Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: Angst, Blood, Bodily Fluids, Dark, Drama, F/M, Feels, Hurt, Injury, Introspection, Loss, Love, Miscarriage, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV First Person, Pain, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship Tectonics, Sad, Trauma, grim grimy Call bumbles his way through feels what are those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soul shrinks<br/>From all that it is about to remember,<br/>From the punctual rape of every blessed<br/>day,<br/>And cries,<br/>“Oh, let there be nothing on earth<br/>but laundry,<br/>Nothing but rosy hands in the rising<br/>steam<br/>And clear dances done in the sight of<br/>heaven.”<br/>-- Richard Purdy Wilbur, “Love Calls Us to the Things of This World”</p><p>**</p><p>Hard Times befall Our Heroine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Blessed Day

**Author's Note:**

> The first version of this can be found at [Twyla's](http://web.archive.org/web/20010527030522/www.roguebitch.org/twylas/page2.html) courtesy of the Wayback Machine. It was a much more benign version without the recovery aspects being so detailed, and a few other things. Viz., I am just a much better writer now than I was 13 years ago when I first wrote it. 
> 
> All kinds of love and appreciation for [tryxchange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tryxchange) for the support and encouragement and being just about the only person who reads these.

It seemed I would nap anywhere these days. It didn't help that the weather was in full summer glory, beautifully warm, Nature at her most benign.

I had been on my back under the wagon, securing a loose board, when I started feeling drowsy. I put down the hammer and was instantly asleep.

Something woke me up. Something raucous and insistent. I fought my way back to consciousness. It was my geese, roused by the sight of a stranger. I looked over and saw a pair of boots I didn't recognize.

 _Where is my gun?_ I thought stupidly. I remembered it was out of reach, dumped into the toolbox because the belt was too uncomfortable to lay on. Mentally I cursed myself and tried to be very still.

The boots came over to the wagon and suddenly a face was peering at me.

“Well, look here,” it said. “Why don't you come on out, little missy?“

I scrambled out from under the wagon, pulse racing with fear.

The man was tall and unkempt with a gut and shabby clothes. I kept the wagon between us.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to sound calm. There was no way I could get to my gun before he got to me.

“Oh now, that ain't important. Hey, Clive!” He shouted out of the barn doors. “Looks like there's somebody home after all!”

In strolled another man. He was smaller and much neater than his companion, clever and cruel-looking. 

“Well, well,” he said. “Seems like this trip gets more worthwhile by the minute.”

“What do you want?” I asked, striving not to sound panicked.

“Don't worry, darlin',” Clive said. “Don’t move and you won’t get hurt. Much.”

That was a lie. 

I fought, but I am not a large woman, for all that I am strong from the work that I do. I was no match for two men, and certainly not a match for ones so brutal. My awareness narrowed to a pinpoint as they took me against my will and beat me. I mercifully lost consciousness when they choked me, feeling no regret. If I were to die from this, it would be a relief.

I came to slowly and painfully, laying on my side. I was naked and tied loosely to a post in the barn. My eyes were so swollen I could barely see. It hurt to breathe. There was blood on my thighs, and in my mouth and nose. 

I managed to get myself untied and sidled to the stable doors. The yard was empty. I darted, limping, to the house, slamming and bolting the door.

I got some water from the copper and washed myself as best as I could. Some of my fingers were swollen and my knuckles were skinned. My skin stung and throbbed with wounds I tried not to see. After I got clean, I crept to my bedroom, wrapped myself in a quilt, and lay carefully on my bed.

It hurt to do anything, including think. I retreated to a far corner of my mind, letting it go blank.

Some time later I felt a horrible cramping in my lower abdomen and a gush of liquid came out of me. I screamed, but all that came out of my abused throat was a terrible-sounding howl. I rocked myself, curled around the pain, shaking violently with sobs that tore at me, tears seeping from my swollen eyes.

A couple of days might have passed. I couldn’t quite recall. I ate some. I used the chamberpot. I didn't go outside. I didn’t get dressed. I kept the quilt wrapped around me and sat by the cold, dark fireplace.

I heard a horse gallop up and cringed into my chair. 

“Aden! Aden, are you home?”

I recognized that voice. Some instinct of self-preservation carried me to the door, where I unbolted it and threw it open.

“Call!” I said, or tried to say. My voice wouldn't work properly.

“Aden! Jesus God, what happened to you?” Call came towards me, expression panicked and shocked. I scuttled away from him, hiding behind the door.

“Get Mattie,” I croaked. “Please. Get Mattie.”

Call spun on his heel and ran down the steps. I heard the Hellbitch gallop away. I shut the door and retreated back to the chair.

It got dark. I heard the sound of horses again. The door opened and Call said, “It's me, Aden. I brought Mattie. And Dr. Cleese.” He moved around the room, lighting some lamps. Mattie knelt next to my chair, face drawn and pale as my injuries became illuminated.

“Oh my dear God, Aden. Are you all right?”

I stared at her mutely, my eyes filling with tears.

Dr. Cleese bustled into my line of sight. He was such a kindly-seeming young man that I couldn't be frightened of him. “Miss Selkirk, can you tell us what happened to you?”

I glanced at Mattie kneeling beside me, and then at Call, who stood behind another easy chair. His fingers were buried in the upholstery and his eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen them, brilliant with fury, fixed on my face. 

I couldn't look at any of them for very long.

“Two men,” I whispered. “They came into the barn. Forced themselves on me and beat me. Tied me up and left me for dead.” My jaw hurt when I spoke.

“Miss Selkirk, we'll use your room, I'm going to need to get a full look at you to determine the extent of your injuries.”

Mattie helped me up and Call made to follow, but she gave him the fiercest warn-off look I'd ever seen.

“You can come in when we're done,” Mattie said firmly. 

“I’ll see to the livestock, then,” Call snapped, turning and leaving again.

Dr. Cleese lit all the lamps in my room and instructed me to sit on the bed.

“Miss Selkirk, I need you to take off the blanket. Can you do that?”

Numbly I unwrapped myself. Mattie hissed when she saw the dark bruises and bite marks all over my torso and breasts. Dr. Cleese gently felt of my face while keeping up a running monologue. 

“Jawbone seems sound, nothing broken -- does that hurt? Open your mouth for me please...that's it.” He touched my throat and I twitched away slightly. “Looks like they knocked out a tooth. They may have choked you, do you remember?” I nodded. Dr. Cleese continued. “It should feel better in a few days. Now,” he checked down my arms, lifting them and manipulating my fingers. “Looks like you got some punches in,” he said approvingly. “You have a few sprained fingers.” Then he felt my ribs while I bit my lip and looked away, swallowing a rising panic. 

“Your ribs are bruised but not broken. You got lucky.”

I snorted despite myself. Dr. Cleese made a moue of apology. “Sorry,” he said. “Now, Miss Selkirk, I'm going to have to do a gynecological exam to see if you were injured internally. Can you let me do that?”

“A what?” Mattie asked, bristling protectively.

“I need to examine her...er...parts,” Dr. Cleese blushed. 

“Oh,” said Mattie.

“Go ahead,” I mumbled, resigned.

Dr. Cleese instructed me to lay on the edge of the bed with my knees up. He brought the lamps closer to him and let me re-cover myself to the waist with my quilt. Mattie sat on the bed next to me and held my hand.

I felt Dr. Cleese's hands on me, gentle as they could be, cleaning and carefully examining me. I could differentiate the feel of them from the feel of those who'd caused my suffering and I took comfort in that, even if the actual process stung my abused flesh. It didn't keep me from flinching and whimpering when he had to put his fingers inside me to assess the damage further. He carefully palpated my stomach as I clenched my teeth on the gasps of pain that wanted to escape.

“I am so sorry, Miss Selkirk. I will try to be quick," Dr. Cleese said. "There's a little tearing, but that should heal in a few days." He made a surprised sound. “You've had a miscarriage.”

I closed my eyes, resting my forehead on the back of Mattie's hand.

“Did you know you were with child?” Dr. Cleese pressed. I nodded silently, heartbroken.

“Oh, Aden,” Mattie's voice was full of sympathy. She gently squeezed my hand. 

Dr. Cleese finished up and covered me the rest of the way with the quilt.

“All in all, Miss Selkirk, you've been extremely fortunate. Your internal injuries are negligible, there is no soft tissue damage, and you have no broken bones. Take it easy for a few weeks and you should heal up fine.”

“Thank you Dr. Cleese,” Mattie said. “I'll be staying with Aden until she's better.”

“Good. Well, I'll be headed back to town -- ”

A brief argument ensued as Mattie insisted that Dr. Cleese stay until morning, which he reluctantly agreed to, and they left the room. I curled up under the quilt, aching and full of grief.

I heard some heated discussion in the living room and then Mattie said, “Aden, do you want to see Call?”

I nodded without opening my eyes. She left and I heard, felt, Call come in.

“Aden? All right if I sit on the bed?”

I nodded again.

“It true what Dr. Cleese said? About you losing a baby?”

I nodded a third time.

“Was it mine?” Call's voice was deadly quiet.

“Ours,” I rasped out miserably.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I wasn't that far along. I haven't seen you since the social. That was a couple of months ago. I was going to tell you next time you were here,” I whispered, finding it easier on my throat.

The silence was so profound I opened my eyes and looked at Call. He sat like a marble statue, fists clenched, jaw set, and eyes like sapphires.

“Call?” I reached out and touched his arm. When he turned that enraged gaze on me, I quailed from it.

Perhaps that shocked him, to see me so frightened, and of him -- his glare disappeared and in its place a mute anguish showed. He took my hand and gently stroked it as I covered my face with the quilt and cried.

I heard Mattie ask, “Is there anything I can do?” and Call replied, “There any whiskey?”

Mattie brought my bottle in and they both persuaded me to sit up and drink. It helped, and I fell asleep.

***

When I awoke, I heard Mattie in the kitchen, singing. I sat up slowly and put my robe on, letting the quilt fall to the floor, and then shuffled out of my room.

“You hungry?” Mattie asked. I shrugged. “You need to eat,” she said. I plopped down at the table and waited. Mattie put a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. I ate it mechanically, not tasting it, swallowing it stoically even though it hurt. Mattie sat across from me, eating and trying not to stare at what were surely spectacular bruises on my face.

“Call and the doctor leave?” I asked softly.

“They went back to town early this morning.”

“Have you gone through the house yet?”

“Not yet. Don't you want to get dressed?”

“Not really.” I got up and went into my bedroom. I pulled off the robe, pulled on a nightgown, and re-donned the robe. That was my nod to convention. I didn't want to look at my skin. I glanced at the quilt I had wrapped myself in for the past few days, taking in its befouled and bloody state. I would have to burn it.

I started inventorying my belongings to see what the attackers had taken.

In the house they'd taken food, dried meats and fruits and such. Enough to be carried on a couple of horses. They'd stolen all of my jewelry, which had been inherited from my parents. I had no jewelry of my own.

They'd taken all the cash they could find but hadn't really searched for the safe. Which was good, since the majority of my money was in there.

For some reason, although there had been a lot stolen from my house, there was no mess to clean up. My attackers had been very tidy. Except for me.

I headed for the barn. Castor and Pollux, my plow horses, were in the paddock, along with Spot and Desdemona, the cows. The pigs were in their pen, the geese in theirs. With a sinking feeling, I went into the barn.

Mattie had been taking care of things in there, and there was no trace of my attack, a fact for which I was profoundly grateful.

The thieves had taken some feed, as I'd expected. And, as I'd expected, they'd taken Athena.

***

The last time Call had come to see me he'd been leading a beautiful grey mare behind the Hellbitch.

“What's this?” I'd asked.

Call had dismounted and led the horse over to me. “You need a better horse for riding than those Percherons,” he'd said. I'd held my hands out to her and she'd thrust her nose into them...

***

“Those bastards took my horse.”

“Bet you anything Call is looking for her.” Mattie stated.

“Oh, probably,” I said. Even if the idea of me being attacked didn't move him, horse theft certainly would.

Suddenly I felt very tired. The barn seemed to close in on me. I leaned against a post.

“Aden? You all right?” Mattie's soft voice was rich with concern.

“No,” I said, hating the way my voice broke over every word. “No, I'm not. Let's get out of here.”

We went to the porch, where I settled in the rocking chair. Lassitude overcame me.

“You want to be alone for a while?” Mattie sat on the rail.

“I don't know. I have books, if you'd like to sit with me and read.”

“All right,” Mattie went into the house and I drifted off to sleep.

The next week was much like that. I spent a great deal of time sitting in my chair, dozing off, not talking. Mattie took on my usual chores and gave me the time I needed to heal. I thought I would have trouble sleeping, but I didn't. I slept hard and dreamlessly.

After a week or so, Mattie settled herself on the porch rail across from my rocking chair. I looked up at her expectantly.

“You up to talking?” she asked.

“Guess so,” I replied, my voice nearly back to normal.

“Aren't you curious about where Call's gone?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”

Mattie leaned forward. “Aden, was it Call's baby?”

I wouldn't lie to Mattie, who was my oldest and dearest friend.

“Yes, Mattie. I'm sorry.”

Mattie rested her forehead on the knuckles of her clasped hands.

“I guess I've known since Call came for me. And the expression on his face when Dr. Cleese told him about the baby. Looked like he'd been kicked in the gut,” her voice was muffled. “How long have you two been carrying on?”

I thought back. Surprised, I said, “About a year or so.”

“Oh, Aden,” Mattie's voice was sad. “Why didn't you ever tell me?”

“I never thought to. What happens between me and Call seems so separate from Curtis Wells and your life there.”

“But it ain’t, Aden,” Mattie's voice was full of unshed tears.

“I know that _now_ ,” I said with some asperity. “I know you're carrying a torch for him.”

Mattie laughed shortly. “I used to be in so in love with him it hurt me to even see him. But I ain't a girl anymore. There's only so much hopelessness a love can take. Now he's just a friend.”

“And me?”

Mattie looked up, her eyes wet. “Oh, don't be silly, Aden,” she said with some of her usual fire. “We been friends forever. Nothing can change that. Not even men.”

I laughed, for the first time in what felt like ages. My ribs complained but it otherwise felt very good. A little color returned to my life.

“Not even grim, grimy, closemouthed men who happen to be bounty hunters?” I asked, giggling.

“ _Especially_ not them.” Mattie replied, eyes twinkling.

“Well, good. You know, if you didn't live so darn far away, I'd be able to keep you more current.”

“My customers wouldn't appreciate me moving way out here.”

“How much longer can you stay? Speaking of customers.”

Mattie made a face. “Truth to tell, I should be back now. But don't you worry,” she said quickly. “I can stay for as long as you need me to.”

“Can you stay for another week? I should be healed up enough to be by myself then.”

Mattie nodded. “Will you be all right after that? Being alone and all?”

“I'll have to be, won't I? You can't live here forever.”

“What about Call?” Mattie asked.

“He doesn't live here either. He just visits sometimes,” I looked down, twisting the belt of the robe in my hands.

“He 'visited' enough to get you in the family way. That ought to mean something.”

“Yes, well, it's something he and I will have to discuss, next time he shows up,” I rocked my chair.

“You certain he's going to come back?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I have to believe he'll at least want to tell me about Athena and what happened to her.”

“I hope he's a better man than that.” Mattie stated.

I sighed. “I do too, Mattie.”

We sat in silence as the sun went down.

***

A week later Mattie packed up her things and left, making me swear I would come see her in a month. I promised not to keep secrets from her again.

My body was fairly well healed. My mind, however, was another story. 

I discovered how hard it was to do my chores one-handed -- you can't muck out a stall and hold a gun at the same time. So I reluctantly started using my gunbelt again.

I couldn't carry on a productive life and hide indoors. I had to force myself off the porch some mornings, and I couldn't have my back to the barn doors. When I was out plowing or planting, I kept my ears strained for the slightest unfamiliar sound above the jingle of the harnesses.

I started having trouble sleeping.

I would get up and check my bolted doors a dozen times a night. When I finally did sleep, it would be sitting up in my chair by the fireplace, sawed-off across my lap. I would either have oppressive dreams full of the stench and sounds of the men who hurt me, or I would crash into a sludgy unconsciousness that had more to do with oblivion than true sleep. 

Either way, I never felt rested when dawn came. I would eat and dress and head out to the barn, hoping for activity's distracting effects.

When Call came riding back to my house, Mattie had been gone over a week. I was on the front porch, up to my elbows in soapy water, doing laundry. He looked like Hell and so did his horse. They were both filthy and exhausted.

“Where have _you_ been?” I asked, not entirely happy to see him.

Call slid awkwardly off the Hellbitch and staggered to the porch. Grimacing, he eased himself onto the steps.

“Tracking,” he said tiredly.

“Tracking what?”

“Your horse and the men that took her.”

“Oh, so you were after horse thieves,” I snapped, wringing a shirt with unnecessary ferocity.

“You know that ain't why I tracked them, Aden,” Call replied.

“I know no such thing,” I said in a rage. “All I _know_ is that when I woke up, you were gone. I didn't know if you were even coming back. Why did you leave? What were you thinking?”

Call stood up during my tirade, an impassive expression on his face, looking as if he would just mount back up and ride off. I felt like he'd far rather do that instead of dealing with my so-messy emotions by responding to what I said. I got to my feet so I could face him, more aware than ever of how small I was as I looked up at him. It only made me more furious. 

“Answer me, Call, goddammit!” 

He compressed his lips, thumbs hooked in his belt, looking down at his boots. 

My fury boiled over and I punched him in the stomach. It wasn’t a very hard or impressive punch, but he doubled over, grunting. Most likely it was in surprise more than pain.

I was not normally a violent person, and especially not towards the ones I cared about, so I was shocked and horrified at myself. I burst into tears and fell to my knees on the porch. I leaned on my hand, arm across my stomach, wracked with ugly sobs.

Call knelt next to me and took me in his arms. I shuddered and leaned stiffly into him. I knew he was no danger to me, but I still felt uneasy being confined. He rocked me gently, letting me cry myself out. Over my weeping I heard him whispering, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Aden. Please. Don’t cry.”

“I needed you here, Call,” I replied.

“I couldn't do anything here. Leastways I could find the men who did this to you.”

“You could have done something here,” I said fiercely. “You could have stayed long enough to see I was all right. You could have said goodbye in person. I would have understood why you had to go.”

“You’re right,” Call replied. “I won't do it again, I promise.”

 _Again?_ I thought. _What does he mean by that?_

I sniffled, embarrassed at my outburst. Call cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry to ask you this, Aden, but I'm real tired. Can I stay here tonight? I'll sleep upstairs."

“You can stay," I said, carefully not acknowledging the rest of that statement. "Get the Hellbitch settled and grab something to eat from the pantry.”

Call rose and helped me up. I turned back to the laundry, lacking anything better to do, and plunged my shaky hands into the water. It was soothing to have something to keep me busy.

I heard Call retrieve the Hellbitch and later, go into the house.

When I came in from hanging out the washing, he was sprawled out in a chair, fast asleep, his bootless feet propped up on the ottoman. I smiled slightly, sat across from him, and regarded his relaxed pose.

Did I love this man? My getting with child was accidental. I had foolishly thought the intermittent nature of our encounters would keep me safe. But I would have carried it to term and raised it. With Call? Was that the road we were on? What had been diverting and respectful of our independent lives took on a whole new intimidating dimension.

And now that I'd lost the baby, what was he to me? It wouldn't be possible to have things back to the way they were before. Would it? 

Would he even want me? Did he think I was sullied now, because I had been taken against my will? 

_He’d be a hypocrite if he were,_ I ruminated. _Considering he’s visited Twyla’s, and not for the liquor._

I shook my head. I could run myself in circles trying to figure out what we were to each other by myself. I would find a way to talk about it with Call later. I would make him tell me, if I had to, terse demeanor be damned.

I got up and went to bed without waking Call. I awoke feeling quite rested, for a change. I felt safer knowing he was there.

When I came into the kitchen next morning, Call put down a cloth and stood, looking caught out.

“What are you doing?” I asked, suspicious.

“Cleaning my guns.”

“What for?”

“Going after those men.”

I walked into the other room and grabbed my gun belt. I dropped it onto the kitchen table. “Clean mine while you're at it. I'm coming with you.”

Call looked as if he would argue. I gave him a steely glare and he was suddenly very busy reaming the barrel of his pistol. I got myself a mug of coffee and sat across from him.

“So. Where are they?”

“Last I trailed them to someplace just south of the Canadian border. Near the Hat Creek Outfit.”

“That's quite a ride,” I replied.

Call nodded. “Reckon it'll take us longer riding double on the Hellbitch.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Your Perches can't keep up with her,” Call reasoned. I nodded.

“We'll have to ride over to the Nelsens and ask them to look after the farm.”

Call nodded once and I got up to get ready.

***

It had been over a month since I'd ridden. I had quite sensibly volunteered to ride pillion behind Call, not knowing how I'd react to his arms around me. It was difficult enough for me to rest my hands on his hips.

Call let the Hellbitch set the pace, which was a ground-devouring lope. I watched the world go by. Summer was in full swing, the trees were green and the prairie was alive with flowers and beasts. I felt myself growing less distant from the world now that I was out in it. Scents tickled my nostrils and sights touched me.

We stopped for good at sunset. Call and I set up camp and we ate a cold dinner. We had spent the entire day in silence, even when we'd stopped at noon.

“I'll take first watch,” I volunteered. “I don't sleep much, nights.”

“Suit yourself,” Call replied, settling himself against his saddle. He pulled his hat over his eyes and seemed to fall asleep instantly.

I was puzzled and wounded by Call's distance. All day he hadn't acted like we'd shared any intimacy. He'd offered no jokes from our times together. He hadn't even touched me. He'd barely looked at me. Was he revolted by me? 

God knows _I_ felt defiled. I didn’t want to feel that from him, too.

The night deepened. It was nearly balmy out, making the fire unnecessary. It was peaceful and I felt my tension in stark contrast to the night. I was jumpy.

I walked back and forth on my side of the fire, trying to work off my nerves. I tried to be quiet, but my gunbelt _would_ jangle, and I _would_ trip over the occasional rock.

“Ain't going to get much sleep, you keep pacing around like that,” Call's voice came from under his hat.

“I can't help it. I'm jittery,” I walked over to where he was laying. “Can I talk to you?”

He took his hat off and sat up, leaning against the saddle. “I'm listening,” he said.

I sat next to him Indian-style. “Do you hate me?”

For a second Call looked boggled at the question, and then his expression softened. 

“No, Aden, I don't hate you.”

“Do I disgust you?”

“Course not.”

“Do you think less of me because of what happened?”

“How could I think less of you?”

“I could have fought harder. I could have remembered to wear my stupid gun. I could have --”

“Aden, stop.” Call sat up further, looking directly at me. “There ain’t nothing you could do would make me think less of you. Or not do. Things I’ve seen, things I’ve _done_ \-- I ain’t got the right to judge. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Then how come you haven't talked to me all day, haven't looked at me, haven't touched me?”

“Wasn't sure you'd welcome my touch,” Call replied.

I stopped for a moment, unable to put into words the many conflicting feelings I had. Of course I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to know that he wasn't repulsed at my violation. But it was that violation that made it so hard for me to be touched. I waged an internal battle between revulsion at my body for its weakness and tenderness towards its brokenness.

And the baby I lost. That emptiness I would feel forever.

“This is so hard,” I whispered, looking down.

“It's hard for me, too.” Call replied quietly. “I don’t know what to do. What you want me to do.”

“Please don't stay away from me, then. I feel as if we're strangers,” I stared at the inky ground, feeling exposed in every nerve. All my self-sufficiency had never prepared me for this. I felt weak. 

I hated it.

I summoned up what little bravery I had left and reached across the yawning distance between us. I took Call's hand, finding it warm and familiar. Relief flooded through me when he squeezed gently.

“Maybe -- you could just lean against me here?” Call said tentatively. “If it don’t upset you too much.”

I was as unused to Call being uncertain about something as I was unused to weakness in myself.

“I'll try,” I replied. I scooted up next to him and lay my head on his shoulder. Call carefully put his arms around me and rested his chin on my head.

“That all right?” he asked. I heard his voice resonate in his chest. Something inside me unwound a little.

“Yes. Are you comfortable?”

“I'm fine. You sleep,” Call said firmly. I closed my eyes and did just that.

***

I couldn’t move or breathe and I thrashed around, trying to get away, free myself, fists beating at what held me until I sprawled on the ground, suddenly conscious. I tried to push up on my hands, gasping for breath and trembling.

“Aden! Aden, wake up,” I heard Call from behind me, but didn’t turn around. 

“Dammit,” I said tearfully, managing to get up onto my knees. I covered my face with my hands. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re not going to hurt me!”

“Aden, I know.” Call said. I turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved from where we’d fallen asleep against the saddle. He held his hands down at his sides, making sure I could see every movement he made. “It was a nightmare.”

“This isn’t fair to you,” I said, angry. “You haven’t done anything. Why can’t I take comfort from that? Why can’t I be with you?”

“It ain’t going to fix itself overnight, Aden,” Call said gently.

“I just don’t want to feel so alone and scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“Keep trying, I guess,” Call offered. “If you can’t have my arms around you, do something else.” 

“Like what?”

“It’s your decision,” Call said. 

I got up and walked over to him, and then sat down close enough that my shoulder touched his arm. I reached down, tentatively, and brushed my knuckles across his until I could loosely interweave our fingers. 

“Try again?” I said softly.

“Often as you need to,” Call replied. “Sleep. If you can.”

I arranged myself against the saddle until my neck was comfortable and stared into the dark. I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until the sunlight touched my face and I woke up. 

**

It went on like that for many nights. I would wake up, in the midst of a nightmare, scrambling away from Call. He would speak to me the way he might to a spooked horse, until I calmed down enough to come back and sit next to him. 

I didn’t try to have Call’s arms around me again, but one morning I woke up with my head pillowed on his thigh. One of his hands held mine loosely, and the other was placed lightly on my waist. I hadn’t had a single nightmare and I felt well rested.

“Huh,” I mumbled. “How’d I get down here?”

Call didn’t move, but he said, “Slid. Figured I’d leave you that way unless you wanted to change it.”

I rolled over and looked up at him. “Because it's so awful having me sleep down here.” 

“Only if you decide to start punching me again.”

I took in the tired lines around Call’s eyes, and the grim set of his mouth. Reaching up, I touched his cheekbone with my fingertips. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. He covered my hand with his. “You shouldn’t have to work this hard.”

“No more should you,” he said. He squeezed my hand and put it down. “Ready for some breakfast?” 

“Guess so,” I replied, scrambling upright. 

**

There was a gradual easing of tension between us after that. We rode most of the time in silence, but it was a companionable silence.

“How come you didn't kill those men after you'd tracked them to their camp? Why'd you come back to me?” I asked one night over supper.

“Needed to see how you were. I didn't expect to be gone so long. And,” Call smiled a bit mischievously, “Figured you might want to come along. Get your own revenge.”

“Ah,” I said. “So you weren't going to argue with me after all.”

“Only on health grounds. But I get the feeling you'd’ve dragged yourself after me on bloody stumps. It's easier this way.”

“Oh, easier,” I said scornfully, kicking at a tuft of grass.

“In a manner of speaking,” Call said from across the fire.

“Yeah.” I replied.

***

“Would you have wanted the baby, Call?” I asked later, head on his shoulder.

He squeezed my hand lightly. “Course I would've,” he replied. “Didn't you?”

I snorted. “Not like I had a choice now, is it? But yeah, once I got used to the idea, I definitely wanted the baby. I was afraid of what you'd do, though.”

Call looked down at me, expression genuinely curious. “Why?”

“There are a lot of things about us that go unspoken, Call. We have understandings between us that other folks wouldn't appreciate. I don't ask you if you visit the whores at Twyla's or what you do when you're on the trail doing your job. I don't ask you to be my man or live with me because, frankly, I don't know if I'd like that. Men...take up a lot of space. I like having my own. You seem content to share my life in your own way. You don't mind my independence. I know your freedom is important to you. And I didn't know if you were happy with that or if you wanted more. I didn't know how to ask you. And a baby would've changed all that.”

Call chuckled slightly. “You thought about this a lot.”

“I was that way for at least two months, Call.”

“I don't visit Twyla's anymore,” he said. “Haven’t for a long time.”

I didn’t want to ask if I was the reason for it, if he was being fidelitous to me in his own way, because I was afraid of the answer.

“I thought about it a lot too when I was tracking those men. Couldn't come up with any solution. We'd’ve had to play it by ear and see what felt right. I know you'd’ve told me what felt comfortable.” Call resettled himself. “Before Hannah died we had a little ranch. Always wanted to go back to raising horses if I could. And I ain't never been a daddy. When Dr. Cleese said you'd lost a baby, it was a real shock.”

I looked up at Call's face, emberglow flickering and giving his expression a shifting curtain of shadows and light.

“And me, Call?” I asked softly.

Call stared into the fire. “When Hannah died I didn't think I'd love anyone again. Thought it would be unfaithful to her memory. Thought I couldn’t let myself be close to anyone again. It was too dangerous. I was too lost, too tainted. But I never met someone like you. What you wanted was right out in the open and you never asked anything of me. Just respect.” He looked down at me, grave with his past pain. “I could never fall in love with Mattie. She wanted me to be something I wasn’t. I couldn’t change. Not even for her. She's a good friend, a good woman. She deserves better than what I could give her.”

This was probably the longest speech I’d ever heard from Call, and the most he’d revealed of himself.

“She feels the same about you now,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat. Call nodded once.

“I know.”

“Call, what do you want?” I asked.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to get those bastards that hurt you so much. After that, I don't know.”

“Improvise?”

“Yeah.”

I sighed and leaned against Call’s arm. He kissed the top of my head and I fell asleep, feeling more at home in myself and with him.

***

We rode for a long time. We rode for so long I nearly felt it was my purpose, that we had no goal beyond that. Call pointed out the trail to the Hat Creek outfit, but that wasn’t the route we took.

Call hadn't done more than hold my hand as I slept, or kiss my head, or let me be if I changed position in the night. I was content with that, for now. When I thought about going further, being naked with him, I got nervous. I put the thought away. My body seemed quiescent, waiting. I would know when it was the right time. And it felt good, too, that I could start to put trust in my body again and not feel it had betrayed me.

Call reined up so suddenly that I bumped into his back. “What?”

“Hush,” He dismounted and looked at the ground. Then he remounted and said, “We're in luck, they haven't moved too far from their last camp.”

“So what's the plan?” I asked, my stomach clenching.

“Right now I just want to track them and make sure I got the right people.”

“Lead on, Natty Bumppo,” I muttered sarcastically. Call shot me a dirty look over his shoulder and eased the Hellbitch into an alert walk.

We trotted up to a stand of trees and Call dismounted again. I slid down after him.

“You wait here. If they're the right men, I'll come back for you.” Call's attitude was all business now, completely cold. Which was fine with me, this was not a time to be emotional.

After Call left I took out my gun and checked it, loaded the chambers, and reholstered it. I did the same for the sawed off in the holster on the Hellbitch.

I heard the echo of gunshots from over the hill and leapt onto the Hellbitch's back. I topped the rise to see Call behind a small cart, both guns out. He was pinned down by the combined gunfire of Clive and his unkempt partner.

I took out the sawed off and aimed, shooting the partner in the leg. He crumpled to the ground with a howl. Clive looked at me as I galloped the Hellbitch to where he was.

“You better drop it,” I said. Clive threw his gun into the dust, still managing to seem insouciant.

“I know you,” he said. I dismounted, still holding the gun on him. I heard Call behind me, tying up the partner, who was swearing about his leg.

“You should. You beat and assaulted me. You stole my horse. You robbed my house.” I advanced on him, gun stock held steady against my shoulder.

“Why, I suppose I did. You were real entertaining, darlin'. We thought you were dead,” Clive smiled appreciatively, hands still up.

“So why did you tie me up?” I asked, feeling his words spatter against me like hot oil.

“Better safe than sorry?” 

“Guess you're sorry.” I said, and shot him.

***

“How do you feel?” Call asked me as we rode out of Miles City.

“Hanged for horse thievery? I guess I feel vindicated. Somewhat."

***

Clive and his partner had not been mortally wounded (I got Clive high on the shoulder) so we trussed them up, made sure they wouldn’t bleed to death, and put them in their cart. We rode to Miles City to turn them in.

They'd still had Athena and a good portion of my family treasures. Call had guessed they were on their way to Canada to sell the rest of their wares. 

My reunion with my horse was one of the few spots of joy in that day. 

The first night we were on the road with them, Clive and his partner had started an enthusiastic, detailed recounting of what it had been like to do what they did to me. I had frozen, reliving vivid memories of the events, as Call had vaulted into the cart. There was the sound of a violent scuffle and then silence. Call came out, dusting off his hands.

“Gagged them with my socks,” he said with satisfaction and I nodded, shaky. I didn't sleep that night, instead curling up on my side and watching the fire, holding Call's hand and trying not to think.

The next day I noticed Clive had a bloody nose and his partner had a black eye.

Call and I discussed, in a sort of roundabout fashion, whether we wanted to report them assaulting me. I didn’t want to unless it seemed like they would get away with stealing my horse and other belongings. Call leaned more towards total vengeance, but respected my wishes in this. 

In the end, I didn’t have to report it. Horse thievery was a serious enough crime, and they had robbed more than one person, so it was a fairly open-and-shut case.

**

“ -- Good bounty on those fellas, though,” Call was saying.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Not like I need it, though,” I turned Athena towards the farm. 

“You coming?”

“I'll catch up. I got something I need to do,” Call replied. I shrugged, actually welcoming the time to myself. I needed to think.

Somehow I had decided that Call was someone I wanted to keep in my life, if he wanted to stay. Maybe not forever, but as long as we could. It wasn't the child that had bonded us together. I thought the baby was more of an idea to Call than a reality, however much I mourned the loss of it. 

But our working together to avenge my attack proved to me that there was something there, something valuable. He thought I was important enough to go after the men who hurt me to catch and punish them. He thought I was important enough to come back for so I could be a part of that. He had exercised more patience and understanding than I’d ever believed possible, letting me lead the way in our interactions so I’d feel comfortable and safe.

Call's opening up to me about his wife and some of his hopes for the future was important, too. He was not the sort of person who could be goaded into revealing things about himself. I never asked him to. When he spoke about who he was and what he wanted, it was a gift. One I didn't take lightly.

As for me, my body was reasserting itself. It was fully healed and wanted attention. My fears of intimacy were ruthlessly examined as I contemplated my mental and physical healing processes. It was foolish to be frightened of being with Call. It was not he who had damaged me. Sleeping with him, making love with him, might actually help me recover.

I was glad to feel as if I were living in my body again. The dislocation I felt had gradually grown annoying. Which I guess meant I was getting better.

Athena trotted into the yard and I sent Lars Nelsen on home with some preserves and milk for his family as thanks for looking after my place for so long. I brought Athena to her stall in the barn without any trepidation, only reveling in the comforting scents of hay and warm animals. I settled the stock for the night and went into the house.

Out of habit, I started a bath, dumping lavender salts into the tub. It was only after I'd shed my clothes and lowered myself into the water that I realized I hadn't even thought about what I was doing. Ever since the attack I'd either avoided thinking about my body, or obsessed over it. To blissfully take it for granted was such a treat. I looked down at my naked self, distorted in the water, and welcomed it. I washed, and felt only joy at the fact that I was on my way to being whole.

I finished up and wrapped myself in my robe. The room was lit by the fire and lamplight. I felt comfortable and at home. Though it might take a while for me to feel safe again, at least I wasn't irrationally fearful.

There was a knock at the door. “It's me, Aden,” Call said.

“Come on in.”

Call came in and sat in a chair near the fire. “I been riding around, thinking.”

“I thought you might be. What did you think about?”

“What happened to you. What we've done. The baby.”

“So, basically everything,” I said, smiling.

Call grinned slightly. “Yeah.”

“And did you come to any conclusions?”

“I can’t lose another person.” Call looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers around one another, knuckles white. “I was adrift for so long after Hannah died. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“I know, Call,” I said softly.

“When I saw you, after...after,” Call couldn’t finish that thought. “You could’ve been killed. You could’ve died. It wouldn't've happened if I'd stayed." He glanced up at me, gaze bleak and penitent. "You were going to have our baby and I didn’t even know. I felt safer running. I didn’t know if I was ready for the way I felt about you. So I left. I was a coward, and I left.”

“To be fair, you were working on finding the men who attacked me, not just running away," I said, trying to catch his eye. He looked at me sidelong, giving me another small smile. 

“I don't deserve your generosity,” Call said.

“You deserve my honesty.”

Call shrugged, looking back down.

“Call?” I said softly. “How do you feel about me?”

Call’s return gaze was raw, but steady.

“Well, Aden, I think you’re strong and brave and beautiful. You ain’t afraid to work, and you ain’t afraid to be alone. You know who you are. You know what you want. You respect me wanting to be free. You let me go when I need to go.”

“I don't always like it,” I said. 

“Could tell that much. Even if you didn’t say so.”

“Call, what do you think we should do?”

“I think...I think we should take it slow for a while.”

I walked over to Call and took his hands. He looked up at me, expectant, alert, and a little bit nervous. He no longer flinched from my gaze. 

“I think taking it slow is an excellent idea,” I said, and gently kissed him.


End file.
